


I Saw You Tried to Kill the President

by TheGreatCatsby



Series: Mom Knew a Man [2]
Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: and erik is moping, charles is rebuilding his school, quicksilver - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 15:39:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1715846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatCatsby/pseuds/TheGreatCatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Erik is in New York City,” Charles said. </p>
<p>The words were barely out of his mouth when Pietro disappeared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Saw You Tried to Kill the President

“Erik is in New York City,” Charles said. 

The words were barely out of his mouth when Pietro disappeared. 

“You're welcome,” Charles muttered to the empty room. 

**

“Are you moping?” 

Erik looked up from the newspaper he'd been reading and found himself staring at the kid who'd broke him out of the Pentagon. 

The paper was snatched out of his hands a second later and then tossed on the ground in a flutter of pages. “You'll never see as good a headline as you, I can tell you that right now” Pietro said, suddenly appearing in the opposite seat. 

“People can see you,” Erik hissed, looking around the coffeeshop. Everyone was very studiously not looking at everyone else, as New Yorkers did. Pietro smirked. 

“Not if I don't want them to,” he said. “But that's not why I'm here.” And then he paused. Dramatically. Practically vibrating in his seat with expectation. 

“Why are you here?” Erik asked. “How did you find me, anyway?” 

“Charles.” 

“Of course.” 

“You know,” Pietro continued, “Charles said you'd disappoint me because you disappointment everyone. It's probably true if you're anything like me and you're my real dad.” 

“What,” Erik said. 

“What?” Pietro mocked, drawing the word out. 

“I'm not your—what?” 

“We have the same fashion sense,” Pietro pointed out, gesturing to his garish silver leather jacket and then to the goggles perched atop his silver hair. “There really is no other explanation. And I, too, break the law.” 

“Oh, fuck me,” Erik muttered, burying his face in his hands. 

“Of course,” Pietro continued, “I don't kill people. I think I have a little more class than that. No offense. But some offense because, you know, hurting people isn't really a good thing? Have you talked to my mom since, you know, you did the dirty?”

“What is wrong with you?” Erik asked. “Why don't you stop talking?” 

“I have a lot to say,” Pietro said. “Why aren't you talking more? I mean, I get not wanting to be a dad and all, I really do. I don't want to be a dad. I'm young, but you know. What's with you and Charles, anyway?” 

“Ask him,” Erik said. Then, after a second of consideration, “what do you mean by that?” 

“You have this thing,” Pietro said. “Like an old couple. But also like brothers who hate each other and one was probably the favorite and the other wasn't. Or maybe I'm wrong. Anyway, you should talk to him because he thinks about you. A lot. Like, probably more than is healthy.” 

“What do you want?” Erik asked. He was getting a headache. It was like Pietro just kept throwing things at him, big things, things he hadn't had to think about or hadn't wanted to think about. The kid was relentless. 

“Not a father,” Pietro said, and Erik's coffee cup was suddenly in his hands. He took a sip, grimaced, and the cup appeared back in front of Erik. “Why do you drink that stuff? Needs more sugar--”

“Don't,” Erik snapped, “touch my coffee.” 

“Well then,” Pietro said, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, I just want to say, you know. That you're my dad. And I'm your son. And you don't really have to do anything about it because I'm fine, we're all fine, we don't really need a dad or anything and you're probably not the best dad anyway--”

“Thanks,” Erik muttered. 

“I mean, you destroy things and kill people,” Pietro said. “Your metal thing is kind of cool, but you're so angry all the time. What's with that? You should probably listen to other people. Like Charles. But not just Charles, because he's kind of oblivious sometimes.” 

“I met you for five minutes,” Erik said. He wondered if he could get one of the chairs to smack into Pietro's head, if that would get him to shut up. They were metal. He didn't need this mouthy kid telling him all the ways in which he was wrong. That was Charles' job, and he wasn't with Charles for a reason. 

Many reasons, but that wasn't the point. 

“Five minutes is a long time,” Pietro said. “Like, I can't believe I'm still sitting here, and you're still drinking that coffee. I can figure out a lot in five minutes.” He held up Erik's wallet, which Erik hadn't even felt being taken from him. Pietro flipped it open and read, “Erik Lehnsherr—do you think I should change my last name? I mean I like Maximoff but Lehnsherr--”

“No,” Erik snapped. 

“Kidding,” Pietro said. “I like Maximoff, since that's, you know, the person who actually took care of me all these years. Are you always this grumpy? I don't think I've ever seen you smile.” 

“You've known me for ten minutes,” Erik said. 

“More than that,” Pietro said. “But, I mean, seriously. Do you smile? Do you think if you raised me I'd be frowning all the time?” The wallet re-appeared in front of Erik. “You just gotta learn to relax, man.” 

“Says the kid who can't stop moving,” Erik pointed out. 

“But I'm happy,” Pietro said. “Chill. Relaxed doesn't mean not moving. It's a state of mind.” 

“You know, if you wanted something from me I don't think you'll get it,” Erik said. “Charles was right. You'll get more from him than me.” 

“I could join your cause,” Pietro said. 

“No,” Erik said. He'd be driven mad within a week of having him around. 

“It's cool, I didn't want to anyway,” Pietro said. “So what, you're saying I should go to Charles' school and learn shit that I already know and probably be tied down to rules and things? Is that what you want for me?” 

“I didn't say anything,” Erik said. Pietro frowned at him, and he felt compelled to ask, “What do you want?” 

Pietro shrugged. It looked a bit like a drawn out twitch. “Breaking into the Pentagon was cool.” 

“Charles' idea.” 

“I hear you try to get people to fight your cause all the time,” Pietro said after a moment (practically ages, for him.) “But not me. Why not?” He tilted his head to the side, and Erik couldn't tell what had changed, but there was something harder in his expression now. 

“I recruit those that I think would help the cause,” Erik said. He wanted this over. Pietro was apparently quick at everything except for this particular conversation. “Charles can help you. I think that would be for the best.” 

“Right,” said Pietro, and something caught in his voice, which made Erik feel a pang of worry, which he hadn't wanted to feel because he hadn't wanted to feel anything, but he'd said the wrong thing, and now-- “I gotta go. Catch you later.” Then he was gone, before Erik could so much as think of trying to make it better. 

It shouldn't have mattered. He was no more a father than Charles was a revolutionary. 

Except he was a father. Technically. 

And maybe he didn't want to take Pietro on because it was dangerous, and Pietro was his...

But it didn't matter. It shouldn't have mattered. As with everything, Charles would deal with it. 

He took a sip of his coffee and nearly spit it out. It was horrifically sweet. 

**

Charles was in his office, looking at the files of various soon-to-be pupils when he heard a knock on the door. “Come in,” he said, and the door opened and closed of its own accord. 

Pietro appeared in the seat opposite Charles, looking uncharacteristically subdued. 

“Hello,” Charles said. “Can I--”

“I want to join the school,” Pietro said. “I thought, maybe I should just stay at home. But there's really nothing I can do, and if I find a way to be with others like me and find something to do, well, maybe...I don't do much, that's the thing. I steal things, which is fine. But.”

“There is a place for you,” Charles said, slowly, “if you want it. Do you want it?” 

Pietro was silent for a moment. One of his hands looked blurry, like he was twitching it at high speed on or above the desk. “Yeah,” he said, finally. 

“I'll get you settled, then,” Charles said. Pietro nodded once, sharply, and suddenly Charles' files were gone. 

“Interesting class you got here,” Pietro said. “Can I room with the one who freezes stuff?” 

“Give those back,” Charles said. The files reappeared and he added, “Did you talk to Erik?” 

“When do we start?” Pietro asked, suddenly, from the other side of the room, near the door. Looking as if he really, desperately wanted Charles to answer this question. 

“Now,” Charles said with a sigh. 

Pietro grinned, widely, whatever had been weighing on him draining from his face, and exclaimed, “Awesome!” and the door slammed shut a moment later. 

“You need to come back!” Charles called after him. “You don't have a room yet!” He grabbed a new folder from his pile and stuck a label on it, wrote Pietro's name down. 

He'd have to have a talk with Erik about this later.


End file.
